​ One of Liv Warfield’s songs blasts the chant, “You could call it the unexpected or you could call it ‘WOW!’” Pretty much sums up my World Con experience. Lots of firsts for me over the course of five days in Kansas City. First World Con, first time voting and being a part of the Hugos. “Hugo Award Winning” showed up on the cover of so many books from my youth it became a symbol of power, a symbol part of me hasn't yet grown too cynical to still believe in. Back then there seemed to be a correlation: I dove into authors who put their souls into their works and were recognized for it. Hugo-winning, to me, meant exceptional in some way.

Wee dogs have recently tried to pee on that. I’m not saying that an award is the end-all and be-all of anything. Growing up, I read all kinds of books by all kinds of authors. I also missed all kinds of books by an even greater array of authors. Still, I felt as if that stamp meant something.

What did it mean? 1) That my imagination was about to get a workout; 2) that I could assume a certain level of craftsmanship; 3) that other folks—writers and readers alike—enjoyed a good mental journey just as much as this poor black kid from Detroit. The “black” is important here, because the publishing industry to this day too often will not represent, publish, distribute or read work that’s “too far from the mainstream.” So in all my ignorance, all my zeal, I thought the Hugos represented, above all else, possibility. I didn’t dive into the cogs and gears of how the Hugos were awarded. I assumed they were impartially juried.

I suppose in that respect, I thank wee dogs for peeing on it. It woke me up to certain things. That wasn’t their intention, and, hell, sucks to be them, but Zigs is all up in their mix now. I attended the fucking Hugos. I wasn't nominated, I wasn't there to be slavish, but the kid who grew up wondering if everybody else realized they had no mouths but they had to scream was there as a writer. A writer of new dreams.

Wow.

And as introverted as he is he attended a packed-room Tor Books nighttime jam. His respect for Tor is solidifying, and he's cool with that. Check out Tor.com and you'll see what I see.

Yeah. You can call me a fanboy, you can say I’m a dreamer, you can accuse me of naivety, or you can step away from fear, pretense, and ignorance and simply appreciate the breadth of work being produced in this wondrous century and, in all due wonder, whisper along with me, “Wow.”

Two amazing writers nearly the same shade of brown as me took top literary honors at the 2016 Hugos. That's mind boggling. Not that NK Jemisin won for best novel, boggling that it's the first time in Hugo history that an African American--let alone an African American woman--has won that particular honor. That speaks volumes of shame at an industry that intones the words "boldly going where no one has gone before" while simultaneously slapping at the hands of those reaching for the doors. There's pride in her win, but there's also:

Wow.

Michi Trota, the first Filipina Hugo award winner for her work with Uncanny Magazine, made us cry at the Hugos, not just because of her excellent acceptance speech, but because that speech was in and of itself evidence of more than lip service, it was her ironclad dedication to seeking out new life and new civilizations. It was reality.

Call it the unexpected. Me, I prefer to call it…now.

If you care to see a full listing of wondrous things go here. Genders, nationalities, wonderful people in the skins they’re in, world views and humors, maybe a dash of foolishness or two. Not America con. Not white guy con. Not fawn over the past con. Not you’re-only-allowed-to-play-in-the-sandbox-when-we-want-you-to con. Not beware-of-the-dog con. I want to be surrounded by the awesome variety of voices asking answers of the celestial sky. It's a pleasant sound, an inspiring sound that drowns out the incessant noise of an industry that, as author and publisher Bill Campbell perfectly summed up, is not built for inclusion.

Isn't that America? A lot of yapping from a small percentage, while those of us with better things to do go about the business of maintaining reality. There’s been enough barking to last a while. Maybe we'll see an Age of Creativity drown that out.